


To Mend a Moirail

by PornimMaryam



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Dream Bubbles, Falling In Love, Friendship/Love, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-28 00:25:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PornimMaryam/pseuds/PornimMaryam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Work In progress. Kurloz and Mituna find themselves reflecting on the past and their relationship, as they live their separate lives within the dream bubbles, seemingly lost to one another. When they finally do meet up, after all the time that's past, things start to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revised: 8/28/15
> 
> Kurloz reflects on a specific old friend while in the dream bubbles, and all the the weight his actions have caused him since death.

Cast under the shadow of a tall tree, sat Kurloz. His back was to the bark, one knee bent slightly while his other leg stretched out onto the short grass that surrounded the small area of the dream bubble he was in. He enjoyed this quiet and simple life for the most part, all the chatter and noise from his group seemed so far behind him now. There was no chaos in this part, and death had been more than kind in returning him to these moments of simple bliss. With his eyes closed to the world around him, the mute and lanky troll sighed through his nostrils, the only means he could take such deep breaths and exhale them, mouth since sewn shut to restrict him from exercising his lips freely.

A beautiful, chilling sort of afternoon called for a nice nap. With the sun just peaking through to usher some light, it seemed perfect for such a nocturnal being to laze about. While daylight meant nothing in dreams, it still served a purpose to those of the dead accustomed to certain lifestyles. This was of Kurloz's design, as he continued with his meditation, surrounding himself in a shapeless world where he could live without want, exception to faint longing that carried inside him to be reunited with long lost friends. 

There was Meulin, who in the darkest of times could see some positive thing out of the gloom and dreary reality that all their group faced, which was the doom that Mituna had cried out several times in warning. No one, exception to Kurloz, had taken the warnings shouted through their doom player seriously. Even Latula had laughed at the lisping troll, explaining how he was “totes” exaggerating, while going on about how they had the best team, so how could they lose? But they were going to, as Kurloz knew this, knowing well to turn a blind eye and let things happen as he believed they needed to fall.

It was hard to say from an outward appearance, that Kurloz was anything remorseful, that he was anything but innocent in that acts that followed his team into destruction. Everything he did was not an action on his own. He was merely a puppet, orchestrated to act according to the wishes of a religion he had such strong belief in. He, like his pale brother in suffering, stood outside the world of which the rest of his teammates lived in. He, like Mituna, had known the true life of someone made an outcast, suffering entirely different from one another. Kurloz had with him his “vow” of silence, one that seemed to have been pushed by his untimely nightmare that had rung the most harsh of screams into the ears of the one he had cherished, leaving them with a deafness that could not be cured even in death. 

Mituna, however, had strong visions, strong enough to produce headaches of a massive proportion. But what tormented him the most was in knowing that his friends had no faith in his words of warnings, and continued down their path with blind ignorance. Not a single soul seemed to have faith in his warnings, often dismissing them for lacking confidence in the success of their mission. With no proof to produce, other than what he felt and saw from the painful flashes that cautioned of the outcome of his team, if they should continue down the path they made, Mituna stood powerless amongst his overzealous friends. In anger, he would find himself near tears, feeling the weight and the frustration of all those he considered friends, lacking faith in him. 

All the while, it was Kurloz who stood silent and off to the side, knowing that as much truth came from Mituna’s words, that speaking up would be a step in the wrong direction to the belief that this ruin was an inevitable means to furthering the work that he was doing for the true Messiahs. Such an act would be treason, would he had made the choice to aid his dearest friend, and it was not without suffering himself, that he allowed Mituna’s ultimate undoing.

Both trolls made their sacrifices. Both were left out in the end, separated from the group, made pariah’s of their own undoing. Kurloz dealt with it calmly, even though he was quite often troubled and plagued by the past and the weight his decisions had on his conscious. He cared even towards the end, knowing nothing short of blasphemy would come from acting towards it. He cared more than anyone in that whole team did, at least in regards to Mituna. His sacrifice came in having not only to enact a vow of silence after his damage to Meulin, but in allowing his most cherished diamond to damage himself beyond repair, all the while watching his friend damage himself completely at the hope of changing the doomed fate of his friends, and in knowing that Mituna’s sacrifice would do nothing to stop what discord would continue to befall them all.

Kurloz’s could still recall those last moments that Mituna had brought out every ounce of psionic power to destroy the threat to their session. Those screams echoed with Kurloz, leaving him with the faded memory of a troll broken, and once was. What Mituna became after his accident was only bits and pieces of a friend he knew so well. What Mituna could have been saved from was what Kurloz failed to prevent. Each time he had to witness his dearest friend struggling to get a hold of his mental facilities, or in control of his bodily functions, he could feel that painful tug at his heartstrings, in knowing he had everything to do with what Mituna had become.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mituna finds himself in an unpleasantly painful situation, where his only solace seems to be in an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised and edited 8/28/15

Far off in another bubble, another time and place, sat the impaired troll in question to Kurloz’s longing. So unsure of himself, lost in the fear that he could at any moment, run into an unfamiliar territory, Mituna sat trying to hold himself. He was shaking worse than his usual, twitching and spasming as he fought one side of his mind with the other, battling the all familiar war to get in control of his body. It was the most frustrating part of Mituna’s nights in this afterlife, where he’d growl and curse to himself, trying to gain some control over parts of his body that felt were intentionally rebelling against him. He was completely distraught, and so troubled that he couldn’t master keeping calm on his own - which was next to near impossible with his condition, something seemed to have no method to it’s madness, no cure to be fixed. Regardless of this, Mituna sought and fought to gain control, berating himself as he cussed up a series of colorful curses, fighting to keep his twitching in check.

The only way he could be soothed from the plague of violent spazzing, was when Kurloz came around, working that secret magic he would often would feed to Mituna with the look of his wondrous, glowing eyes. Mituna would look at the mute with trembling lips, fingers fidgeting for something to hold on to, in hopes for brief moments he could steady himself proper, mouthing and stuttering out apologies he felt necessary. 

Half of the time, when he wasn’t making any amends for the crude way he treated others or spoke, Mituna would apologize over and over, half understanding himself what he was apologizing for. It almost seemed as if a part of him knew he wasn’t right, and fought to control parts of him he knew would never be the same. At least to Kurloz, he felt in some of those moments, where it felt Mituna could understand, that his friend knew just how damaged he was. It was almost like he had convinced himself of his guilt, that Mituna’s apologies were his way to try and make amends for lacking control to be the person he wanted desperately to find a way back into being. And perhaps that was a sliver of the truth for the times Mituna did apologize. Perhaps also, it was the inner workings of a mind, riddled with regret and disdain for the sacrifices that were made to feel more important than the sanity of another. One thing was for certain, Mituna could fully understand why it seemed his friends would casually bring up the part of him he used to be. It almost seemed as if they were trying desperately to spark some hope that they could make Mituna the troll before his accident. Even Latula, was with a part of guilt that the burnt out psion could not wash off. During the times he was more conscious of these feelings, more susceptible to the sickening side of him that gave in to depression and sparked brief moments of understanding, it seemed as if he were misplaced in a world not meant for him, existing only as a mercy in this afterlife. 

Ah, but Kurloz. He was a different dude. He never treated Mituna like a stranger, or made him feel guilt for his unpleasant shifts in attitude. He never questioned Mituna about the past or tried to pry him apart to “fix him”, like so many of the others tried to do. The silence of the tall, lanky troll spoke more to Mituna than anyone. One simply didn’t need to speak to make the other feel at ease. There were things best left unsaid, and what Kurloz couldn’t do with his mouth, he did with his mind. The clown could soothe the trembling mess of a troll with the gentle work of his mystical voodoos. Every nerve would be soothed, every muscle relaxed, when Kurloz would remove Mituna’s mess of hair from his face to gaze into his eyes. The glow would then come, and Mituna’s lips would part, drool running down those abused lips he couldn’t stop scraping his teeth against. It wouldn’t matter the mess he made of himself. When Kurloz took control his friend’s mind, Mituna could honestly feel safe inside himself, at peace with the war inside. No motherfucker was as amazing to the broken troll as Kurloz was.

How long had it been since Mituna had seen that special friend of his? Time had passed by and yet, not at all. What he knew now was that it would be a godsend to have his talented friend near, to release him from the hell he was currently dealing with.

Actually, he needed him most of the time, even if a part of him refused the service of the voodoo magic, much less help from other trolls that took platonic pity for him, out of stubbornness that his personality sometimes could be unforgiving for. Help sometimes felt like a threat, helping hands often felt like confinement, for someone often confused and frustrated on a daily basis.

Right now, it seemed that these dream bubbles would not permit a chance encounter with his palest of bros, which only worsened the agony that Mituna felt. His memory might as well had been shit to save for most memories that came before his accident, but he knew well to feel a kindred with Kurloz, to find trust in the motherfucker which was rare to find in the other, and came with a deep longing to feel freed from his current mental imprisonment. Without realizing it, Mituna’s aching eyes began to well up, and the vision around him started to blur together, shapes becoming a blob of colors as he looked down at the ground. There was a sudden pulling at his heartstrings, and the suffocating ache that came with the anxiety of being absolutely alone and without his safety blanket, at a time he was more susceptible to wanting and needing that help. 

Mituna knew Kurloz could make it alright, he knew that with his diamond, things could be okay. But as he tried, even screaming the other’s name, in some desperate attempt that the bubbles would carry off his message, not once did his clownish friend come to his rescue. The only thing he got from all his tormenting was a sore, scratchy throat and an annoyingly runny nose that came accompanied as tears flowed down his face. These episodes were coming so frequent now that it was surprising he had any tears left to sacrifice. He felt forsaken, lost, confused, and angry at his current state. Who was to say he’d ever see that strange lanky figure, and those tall curved horns again? Who was to say he’d ever get out of this situation, being forever condemned to suffer in another intensive state, he felt powerless to fight against. 

A chill overcame Mituna as he wiped the nasal mucus that once again was dripping from his nostrils. It seemed no matter how many times he would sniffle, his nose just wouldn't quit. He couldn't quit, as he let the tears come, hoping for the ache in his chest to be calmed down, that he could be rid of these embarrassing moments and the lack of control that came of his body and his emotions themselves. There was also so much that the ill-fated Gemini could do when it came to controlling his body and for the most part, he was unable to keep himself from certain things, hands shaking as he tried to make them still by sitting on them. This wasn't going to work, he was still going to shake, and he was still going to hurt. Having no other choice but to ride this out, Mituna waited. He closed his eyes and created a mental barrier of seemingly happy moments to relive as he tried to calm himself and the turmoil that twisted knots in his gut. Maybe if he thought hard enough, dreamt long enough, he would find his clown, or better yet, discover that all this agony and all this pain had been just a horrible nightmare. Maybe he’d even find himself face planted in a juicy pair of spheres to bring some life back into him. The idea at least made him smile, if only for a moment before the splitting pain ran down his spine, reminding him of the position he was in.

On a good day, when Mituna felt more in control of his body, he was spitting out crude jokes and drawings to amuse himself, making attempts to have semi-decent conversations with his so called friends, and even practicing sick and brutal stunts on his falldown slat, which usually always ended in some sort of catastrophe on his part. It was days like those, that he lived for, and thrived in. He’d rather had known the pain of falling ass backwards on his slat down a flight of stairs, than be dealt the trouble he was currently in.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised and edited 9/13/15

As Kurloz’s eyes opened, the world around him in which he had been sitting in, seemed to melt and change before his eyes. The sun that had been starting to set, had finally faded out into the dark sky. Still alone with himself, the slender slowly sat up, twisting his hips as he started to stretch his body in different fashions to help wake his stiff body from its slumber. He could remember a time when he could enjoy such a nice quiet and serene outing with the company of his old friend, who would talk nonstop about the many things that would excite him. For Mituna, it was the little things that were big in his life, such as the way a butterfly would almost get within his grasp, only to miss out on it’s fluttering wings, or how he would marvel at Kurloz’s hair, trying to style it in spite of his hands being uncooperative during his attempts to play around. The Gemini was always so proud of the things he did for Kurloz, and how could the mute not smile that genuine switched smile, when his moirail would look at him with such temporary innocence? It was almost as if for those little tiny moments, that Mituna was quite simple, but even Kurloz knew better. Under the facade of sweet simplicity lay obscene words, a rather colorful vocabulary, and perversion. As shattered as some parts of Mituna were, it didn’t hide the fact that he was more than capable of eliciting some dirty thinking and speaking, the likes of which always amused the clown to no end. He often fondly regarded his friend’s more lively of states, and it was that part of his friend that he was missing the most.

A smile faded, the world around him seemed to lack any warmth. Kurloz Makara looked around him, as if what lay in front of him was the aftermath of some tragedy. In a sense, it really was. How could he appreciate such beauty, when the one mother fucker who mattered was nowhere around to enjoy this with him, to point out the obvious and laugh, highlighting every moment with his flavored commentary, leaving a mess of spittle around anything too close of a proximity to his lips. It was something Kurloz always noticed, was how Mituna would often spit as he spoke. He noticed a lot of thing, things that would typically annoy anyone but him. He also noticed things that seldom anyone would ever get a glimpse into, such as Mituna’s dead, white eyes, and how they often had hints of light red and blue nerve endings that started from the edges of his eyes, and left the same scarring at his forehead. As much beautiful as it was in the clown’s eyes, it served well as a reminder of the damage done. A reminder he took great care in appreciating, in spite of it all.

Heaving a frustrated sigh through his nostrils, Kurloz looked down at the blades of grass before him. Everything seemed so insignificant now that he had been reliving parts of his past in memories most important to him. Looking now, he couldn’t say he was especially enjoying the life after death. He had since done his part in aiding his dancestor their cause to the true Messiah. Without any substance, and without any cause to follow, he was merely existing for the sake of existing. 

There were some things that Kurloz could not let go, regardless of the reward attached at the end of the forgetting. It would make sense to let go, relax and live out the afterlife given to him in the most comfortable way imaginable, but it was not something he could do so easily without the constant reminders that tugged at his heartstrings; all the “what ifs” that danced around in his mind of times that he could have done differently.

It wasn’t like the clown to show much expression to give away his inner thoughts or feelings, except when he was alone. He was good at appearing unfazed by the current events and those that had come to pass, in spite of storm of emotions that brewed inside him. The perfected look of the simple minded, stitched smile seemed nothing but convincing to those around him that he was floating around fine. For the most part, his smile went just the way he had hoped, even going so far as making some around him feel a twinge of unease if they gazed too long. 

Many had an inkling to his strange and benevolent ways, but most chalked his current state as strange and bizarre, if not off putting. It was perfect for the troll, who spent so much time hiding behind guises and pretending for the sake of protection and manipulation, but he had no need for such games now that he was alone. Free to look as dejected and troubled as he looked, Kurloz continued to mull over the past.

It was too late to continue to pilfer through the many “what if” scenarios, trying to find solace creating new scenarios in his head if he had the choice to relive them. There would be no peace within regret, he would have to face up to his crimes by making amends in ways only he knew how. Perhaps then, and only then, he’d find freedom from the nagging guilt that ate away at his thoughts, forcing him to recall each memory he’d done wrong in the eyes of those that trusted him. 

For so long, he tried to find the quiet stillness in forgetting of old times, by distraction and travels around the dream world. But each time it seemed, the echos grew louder. Mituna’s incessant laughter mixed in with the shrill giggle from Meulin, ever ignorant and accepting of their fate. 

Meulin had her ability to forgive and forget. Always cheerfully optimistic and trusting of Kurloz, she was a prime candidate for his puppeteering. She played well, never once suspecting, always susceptible to his gaze. For her, moving on was simple. It was simple because Kurloz manipulated it to be. And even if he hadn’t, he knew that her nature couldn’t stand to see him in such a villainous light. She had all moved on with her afterlife, and seemed happier because of it. 

But Mituna?

How could he explain to his friend that he was fault for all the sufferings he dealt with day in and day out? Mituna would just blow his confession off, even scoff at him for telling a poor joke because regardless of the past, it seemed that his friend couldn’t or wouldn’t accept the past he had no recollection of anyhow. Tell the guy anything, and he’d dismiss it on the grounds of “pics or it didnt happen”. 

Even with this knowledge, Kurloz couldn’t move past knowing how much it mattered to him, regardless of his friend’s inability to understand. He knew that unlike Meulin, who lived a contented afterlife, Mituna struggled constantly with himself and trying to live out that afterlife that so many of the others did with such ease. 

He wanted Mituna to feel anything but accepting of the joke of a Moirail he was. He wanted Mituna to get it through that he had harmed him beyond repair, how inexcusable it was and how easily it could have been prevented. He damaged his friend and led him down the path of the ultimate sacrifice and pain. 

Kurloz Makara needed to find Mituna, to try one last time to make his moirail see what kind of monster hid behind all the facepaint. If he couldn’t do it, he’d make sure he’d never let his friend suffer another moment in the afterlife. He would walk to the ends of every bubble until he could find his broken little friend, not resting until they could be reunited.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I don't even know what I'm doing all of a sudden. I wasn't prepared for the task that involved Mituna.

There lay a small pond nearby where Mituna was situated. The croak of frogs made for an interesting sound, which caused the shivering and shaking troll to become curious. Frogs were funny creatures, and quite fun to try and catch. If this troll could distract himself, it would be a good thing. That's what his video games were for, which Mituna had misplaced during his walk through his bubbles. His little handheld was no longer in his possession, and he cursed himself each time he tried to pull it out of his sylladex. Mituna always forgot that he didn't have that item, forgot that he totally spaced out where he left the damned thing. What he did have, were remnants of why he was frustrated. What use were a few video games without the whole damn video game? Spitting out curses, Mituna removed his helmet and threw it as far as it would go, immediately regretting he had done so, when he saw it bounce across the grass and into the pond. Fuck, _Fuck, Fuuuuck._ Talk about good fucking luck right there.

The Gemini's eyes started to water, and he had gotten up from his little spot to run over to the pond, tripping and falling on a rock along the way. This caused his suit to tear at the knee, and he screamed, so frustrated with himself, as tears rolled down his soft cheeks. He was such a mess at the moment, and now he had lost two things: His precious helmet and his portable video game. He didn't want to think about how much worse things could get, for fear they actually would. Mituna wasn't exactly a graceful troll and because of this, and often suffered from his inability to control his body. He made those who couldn't understand him, uncomfortable with his body jerks and uncontrollable tongue. The words that he said, he only half way meant. Most of the time, if you would ask, he wouldn't recall the thing in which he mentioned and would promptly apologize without knowing exactly what he was apologizing for. The only exception to him focusing was with Kurloz, who was his remedy for his nervous actions. With Kurloz, he felt like the troll he should be. Was it wrong to rely on someone so badly that without them it ached? Maybe the reason Mituna couldn't find Kurloz was because it was so wrong, because _he_ was so wrong and so undeserving of such a good friend, that he was cast out into the bubbles to live out death alone. He was broken, incomplete, unable to fully control himself. Of course, this was why he was alone, he thought, as he made his way to the waters where his helmet had fallen in. It floated back up into the pond, inches away from reach, teasing him.  


"Thun of a BITHHHH! FUUUUUUFFFFF- FUCKFUCKFUCKFUUUUUUUUUUFFTTTTTTTH!" Mituna cursed, throwing spittle into the air as his tongue tried to make the S sounds, only causing a terrible lisp and a sore tongue, as he would occasionally and accidentally, bite his tongue. Not wanting to give up on retrieving his helmet, the Gemini looked around for anything that couldn't help him lure his helmet back over to him, within a reach that he could grasp. The ground provided nothing but the occasional wet patch of mud and rock and in his vexation, he kicked one of those rocks he saw, watching it fall into the water to sink. And although things could be worse, although it was good that it wasn't his helmet that was like the rock, Mituna could help but tug at his hair and groan. The helmet might as well have sunk down into the bottom of that dark pond, for he couldn't reach over to grab it. Taking a few steps back, the frustrated troll looked around for any other temporal object, and preferably a long stick. The nearest tree seemed a walk away, and when he looked back to his helmet, he gave it a sad and longing look before looking back to the tree, so far away and yet close enough for him to make a walk. Sniffling, wiping the snot running down a nostril, Mituna's back slumped as he looked down in shame, dragging his feet on the grass as he made his way to the tree. Soon he'd be able to have his helmet, soon he would feel that small amount of safety. It wasn't much, but what he did have, he relied on as if it were his second death coming. How he had even survived after death, in the afterlife of these ever changing bubbles, seemed like some miracle or another. In the worst of his times, he could turn that miracle inside out, and swear to the Messiah's that Kurloz so worshiped, that he honestly couldn't understand himself, that this was his personal hell. Maybe it wasn't in him to die another time, to meet the ultimate death. 

A few good jumps and swats at the tree branches, and Mituna had himself a decently long stick in which he hoped to pull his helmet in with. Even with his shaking hands, it didn't seem like an impossible challenge. Surely, he could just reach out with the stick and tap at the hemet, tap it close to him. With both hands, the Captor held onto the stick he plucked from the tree, as if it was the most sacred thing he had at the moment. In a sense, it was. This was the key to getting his helmet, the aid for his head for the many times he fell down onto the ground hard. At least with a helmet, his head was safe. With this in mind, the troll took his anxious steps back to the pond that seemed to be teasing and taunting him. _Fuckfuckfuck ffffuck YOU. I get the helmet, you lose. Game over!_ The thought in his head produced a laugh and a snort, and his body squirmed around as if he were being tickled. So excited and wrapped up in his thoughts, Mituna had dropped his stick on the ground. His sudden laughter and small party on his humor died, when he looked down and frowned. The stick was still in tact, but the thought of dropping it when he would be using him, upset Mituna. He mentally scolded himself with some brutal choice words before bending over and picking his prized possession back up. Time for laughter would come later, if he could help it. For now, Mituna Captor knew he needed to try and be good, to focus, to achieve a goal he was so confident in completing. 

As the troll bent down, his knees on the ground and his body reaching out into the water, stick in hand, he had intended for this fetching of his helmet to the shore to be successful. Instead, and almost unfortunately for the Gemini, he wasn't going to reach for that item. And it would have been his fate to fall into the pond and splash about, screaming and crying, if some divine individual hadn't stepped right in. In his wanderings from dream bubble to dream bubble, for the search of one Mituna Captor, it was Kurloz who happened to catch his old pale friend, partaking in a very dangerous task for his mental state. If Mituna had fallen into the pond, the likelihood that he got out alright would be quite pathetic. His chances were better in drowning, for that mother fucker had no idea how to control that crazed body of his.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kurloz and Mituna finally meet up after being lost in the dream bubbles and far away from each other, setting up for an emotional reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter finally done. It took some time, depression has been riding my ass but here you go. I'm really unsure how I'm taking to trying to write for Mituna. Being that this is my first time, I apologize for how I've had this going.

The time that they spent together was mostly lost on Kurloz as he was holding onto Mituna with no intention to let him go. Although, truth be told, Mituna hardly paid any mind. He was too busy sobbing, not over the loss of his helmet or his frustrations from earlier, but in the hysterics that came with the fact that Kurloz Makara was actually here with him, that his old pale mate was putting his arms around him and holding him with such a grip that it made the Gemini fall into hysterics. Knees feeling weak, body shaking with Kurloz's skinny arms around him, Mituna sobbed loud and hard onto his friend, face buried right onto the other's shoulder blades.

Kurloz hardly minded that Mituna was starting to nuzzle his face against his tight skeletal shirt, or that this nuzzling also resorted in being the receiver behind the snot that his friend was wiping on him. Normally, in circumstances that had to deal with Kurloz's choice of apparel, he would push away at anyone who dared to make a mess on him. He was vain, and appreciated how he looked over all, but Mituna Captor wasn't just anyone. It didn't matter the mess that the other made on him, for at that very moment, it was the warmth of two bodies close together that seemed to matter more the mute. 

No words were needed, no usage of the voodoo's were necessary yet at this moment. Mituna was solely focused on the ache and pain that came with the realization that the person holding him was completely and utterly real. That, in his loneliness and prayers to the Messiah's he didn't understand, his prayer for the return of his true mate was found. Kurloz had such a lovely smell to him, as if a part of him was always with the salty air of the sea, regardless of where he traveled. However, for Mituna, as much as he had been racking in sobs and sniffling, his sense of smell was nullified by his happy little breakdown. He could still imagine, and he could still recall. There were some things, that no matter how broken you were, how far gone your mind could be, that you could never forget. Kurloz Makara, everything about him was just that.

As minutes rolled by, Kurloz kept a hold of the other, his hand rubbing up and down Mituna's back. He listened to the breathing of the Gemini, eyes closed as his nostrils picked up the sweet scent of honeysuckle. Truth be told, Mituna had the most natural and relaxing scent that Kurloz had ever encountered. Try as he might, he couldn't help himself from nudging his nose against Mituna's cheek as he inhaled slowly. 

_Mituna, Mituna, Mituna..._ Kurloz's mind flashed back to simpler times, such as holding Mituna's hand for the first time. Mituna's hands were smaller than the clown's, but it fit together perfectly for the skinnier troll. He recalled times before death, of simple talks and usage of clear minds and completed tongues. Everything there was to be about his moirailagence with the Gemini was brought up to Kurloz as he relived short moments in this embrace. He didn't dare try to pull away, extending the time towards awkwardness, but even then, Mituna hardly minded the same. Their bodies radiated heat for another, soaking up their reunion in case the bubbles dared to pull them apart so soon.

Time passed, with Kurloz holding onto Mituna's faintly twitching body. The poor motherfucker was trying so hard to keep himself together, and Kurloz could tell. For Mituna to try and fight with his own nervous system, it was a feat impossible without a little help. With a gentle sigh through the nostrils, the mute pulled himself away from his friend, only to move a hand up to the other's chin to tilt his attention up to face him. With those milky white eyes of his, he looked at the other, at the mess of Mituna's hair and the bangs that covered and protected the red and blue scarring on the white orbs of his own. It was undeniable that Mituna held attraction to Kurloz. He could never fully look at the other without wanting to press his stitched up lips to the other's warmer flesh, and his confusion on his feelings that bordered cheek to lips caused him some slight distress in the moirailagence department. Still, what was a kiss to someone who's mouth restricted most movement? It hardly counted as one, but Mituna was not completely stupid. He'd be able to differentiate the two kisses if Kurloz so desired to press on with his curiosity. Denying himself what he wanted to do mostly, Kurloz kept a safe distance from the other, moving his other hand to push over and up Mituna's bangs to expose those eyes that looked back at the clown with adoration. Mituna had complete trust in this Makara. He knew not of the past, or what evil his friend was capable of instrumenting. And this knowledge now would do little to sway his feelings now that they were together again.

"DO ITTTTTHH!" Mituna pleaded to his old moirail. He was accustomed to Kurloz directing his Voodoos this way. He expected nothing less when Kurloz opened his bangs. Giddy with excitement, it caused the Gemini to give a shutter, shoulder meeting to his cheek as he nuzzled himself, before giving all the attention he could at looking Kurloz in the eyes. He was nearly begging with his eyes at this point. Kurloz was not the type to prolong in this special ritual, and for once, he was doing so. Mituna knew not why, or that some guilt lay heavy on his most favored clown. 

The act of using Voodoos were for working purposes only. Kurloz applied a bit over that, for the sake of another, who could not control his own actions half the time. It was the only selfless act that he would ever repeat, and for only one person. Vain and malicious by fault, the Prince of Rage was to use his powers to entice anger in others, to puppet those weaker down in the spectrum for his master's bidding and some of his own amusement. His line was drawn at Mituna however, who he could not participate in directly harming. He had done enough of that, and he owed it to his troll to rectify where he could.

With a simple nod, Kurloz began to channel himself onto Mituna, his eyes giving the faint glow of his own caste color as he met the other's eyes, forming the slow, soothing connection of voodoo's into the other's pan. He blanketed the other in comfort, reached in to mentally pap each and every nerve ending that dared to act out. Slowly and steadily, he saw a change in his friend, who's eyes met the same flashing of colors. The connection gave way to communication, something Mituna cherished more than their secret sign language talks. It was the closest it got to hearing Kurloz's _true_ voice. It was personal, it was unique, and it was a voice only for him.

Dropping his hand from Mituna's bangs, Kurloz took a few steps back, looking at his friend with a small twitch of a smile, that gave a meager stretch to his stitched up lips. "MY MOST DELIGHTFUL AND RIGHTEOUS MOTHERFUCKING OLE PALEBROTHER. I THOUGHT THESE EYES DID DECEIVE ME, FOR MY BLOOD PUSHER HAD UPON MANY OCCASIONS." Looking at Mituna now, Kurloz felt a sense of serenity. It was good to find the person in his life he had a gentle spot for. He didn't even have the same sort of affections for his ex-matesprit. She was merely a puppet to help him orchestrate the tasks he had before him. Mituna would have been his first choice for such shenanigans, but with the history he with the fellow troll, it was hard to look at Mituna and use him in such fashion without a sour pit of guilt building up in him. And so, he tried to do minimal damage. He tried to make up for what he didn't do in Mituna's more reasonable mind. It may have been too late, but he would take care of him now and until the second death of him.

Mituna wasn't ready for Kurloz to step away, but he had no choice in the matter. The Voodoo's were working through his nervous system, and the rattling of his own bones started to subside, until he was able to stand with ease, hand working up to his slightly trembling lips, as if he dared to try and chew his nails. There was a thought about it, a fight, and yet Mituna knew it wasn't the best habit to have. Even though Kurloz had relaxed him, there were still parts of the Captor that felt too worked up to be tamed. In front of him stood his oldest friend and they were reunited again, and this was a big deal all in itself. Mituna's blood pusher did a small jump, as he thought to some of their old memories, fingers twitching and brushing against his lips as he fought against his natural urge to nibble, slowly lowering his hand to the side. He was able to do it, and whether or not this was the work and help of Kurloz didn't seem to come into Mituna's mind so much as he was able to stop himself from doing a disgusting act in front of someone he deeply admired.

"I know the feelth Kurloth, eheheh!" He was slurring up some of his words as he spoke, lisp thick, as spit projected from his lips as he pronounced certain words aloud. All smiles, he continued on, wiping his mouth a little. "But we did the thing, the touthing thing! You're real bro, so real. Fucking miracles, right?" He beamed, watching as Kurloz made a small nod in agreement. Yes, this was real. And hopefully this time, the Messiah's would not let them part as they had before. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has passed since being reunited in the bubbles (Lmao but Pornim, time has also passed since you've written anything) and the two are now living together in the memory of Kurloz's hive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'd like to apologize for not updating within a year or so. It's been a year, right? More or less, anyways.  
> So much has happened since the last time I updated and it's taken its toll on me mentally. Writing doesn't come to me as easily as it used to, especially for old inspirations such as this story here, but I've been trying to wrap my head back around this.
> 
> I've updated and revised the first 3 chapters of this story, and I plan on going through the rest of my other chapters to revamp them and make them better. I strongly advise you re-read them if you haven't, because I've made a few big changes to my writing!

Time had passed in the dream bubbles with Kurloz and Mituna, since they had reunited. They had been spending nearly every moment since, sharing each other’s memories and making up for every moment of lost time spent apart. For Mituna, being near his pale bro meant the closest to a vacation from the usual body spasms and uncontrollable bursts of emotions that plagued him on every waking occasion. For Kurloz, having his much at times rude, yet entertaining diamond back in his life meant finally filling the emptiness that had caused such unhappiness in his afterlife.

As of current, the two shared a hive in the memory that Kurloz occupied. It was large and expansive - and too much for the clown who spend many sweeps alive in it, much less now dead and more accustomed to feeling the weight of what emptiness could bring along. 

Most of the time was spent on the bottom floor of the hive, closest to the nutrition block and the large stretch of main living area that carried the comforts that pleased both trolls the best. Together, they could make the place their own, and with the comforts and accessibility of the dream world, Kurloz could cultivate many changes within just the drop of a thought. It never ceased to amaze Mituna, who would more often than not, request new changes for his friend to think up to bring to life. 

“Do thihs, do thihs!” He’d exclaim, before pointing a finger to one of the new scrawlings made on one of the walls. Drawing was one of Mituna’s more favorable hobbies, and he had taken to decorating any and every wall near with crude drawings and scribbles to make the place his own since his arrival. Every once in awhile, Kurloz would join in and they’d spend a whole night creating works of art meant both to tease and inspire. 

Usually, Kurloz was game to do most anything his friend desired. He did his damndest to keep the other in good spirits when he otherwise could pacify the other without the usage of voodoos. Through dream bubble creation, he concocted many delicious treats favorable to his lispy friend, as well as spoiled the other with memories that bled through for easy access and enjoyment. For the clown, nothing felt more rewarding than watching the face of his friend as he worked each miracle effortlessly in front of him. 

Mituna seldom could work the bubbles as most could. Even with the aid of Kurloz’s voodoos working through him, he had difficulty making the dream world work the way he wanted to, the way it seemed others had very little problem melding into their own. This factored into his frustration certain days, when his moods got the better of him and he couldn’t enjoy the simple pleasures of Kurloz’s dream manipulation without getting mad at himself and falling prey to violent fits. He wanted more than anything to be able to duplicate what his friend could do, and create such magic for his friend to be in awe at, if only to feel that rush of doing something right for once.

The most he’d ever thought up came in strange forms of items that seemed to meld into each other to create complex shapes. None of the things he made were useful, and most weren’t at all what he had tried to make. His mind couldn’t wrap around the focus that it took to create items from thin air, so most of the time he took to drawing them out in hopes Kurloz would save him from the frustration that it took him in his many failures to give up on. Of course, his friend would always accommodate, to the best he could. 

Right now, accommodating Mituna meant laying still to allow him to comb through the dark curls of the mute’s head. It meant relaxing through the unsteady fingers that combed their way through, and dealing with any accidental pull against his scalp with a graceful smile, as if each tug was just as pleasurable as the usual combing in his hair. It meant absolute trust in the other to do as they wished in creating a brand new hair style for the other, and enjoying whatever came of it. It meant absolute bliss, to feel so contented in this unstable afterlife. And if their bubble should shatter, Kurloz knew he'd be satisfied gazing up at the face of the one he cherished most, as discordant humming gave sound between the lips of his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter wasn't how you thought it would be, I'm sorry. Honestly, I never know how things are going to be until I'm sort of "told" in my head. Consider this chapter more or less a "filler" for actual interaction that's going to come.


End file.
